


How to walk the walk

by Khalehla



Series: Not the usual OTPs [4]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8129761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalehla/pseuds/Khalehla
Summary: Roman develops a crush on the guy doing his walk of shame.Life is so unfair, sometimes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chocabel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocabel/gifts), [Bananasplit86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bananasplit86/gifts), [Yyydelilah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yyydelilah/gifts).



The sun is coming up by the time Roman gets out of work, and although he’s grateful for the job and regular income, when he had gotten into IT, he admittedly had bigger plans than night shift help desk. Okay, so he really shouldn’t complain because he’s still working for a company like SAP and he had only been in the company for two years but he’d been promoted to shift supervisor already, and if he kept his head down and stayed consistent, he should make manager in another year or so. Then maybe he could transfer to a day shift job. Then try to break into another team - like programming; which is where he really wanted to end up. But for now he is going to keep working hard and not complain too much about starting at 10 at night and finishing at 6am - going home when everyone was getting up to get ready for work.

He didn’t really mind too much, most of the time. In the warmer months, walking home was glorious, and doing his grocery shopping without the crowds was incredible, and despite his start time, if he timed it properly, he could still meet up with friends for drinks and/or dinner and then head to work. So all in all, not too bad.

Except the universe hates him just a little bit, because it's on his walks home that Roman bumps into _him_.

The first time Roman sees him, he actually doesn’t at first, because he’s got his head down in the wind and walks straight into someone when he goes around the corner. It’s the beginning of autumn but the air is already chilly and the guy is wearing nothing but a scarf with his suit. Roman’s first thought is to wonder if the other guy can feel the cold at all, his second thought is _‘holy shit, he’s cute and tall and has perfectly shaped lips and his hair looks silky and soft’_.

It’s not one of Roman’s best moments.

The other guy apologises, reaching out almost to check if Roman is okay, and Roman thinks he looks even cuter peering at him like this. It doesn’t detract from the fact that the guy has the most obvious crumpled after-sex look and Roman finds himself blushing.

“It’s okay,” Roman manages to blurt out, “no harm done.”

The other guy takes another second to look him over one more time, then nods and leaves.

Two weeks later, the same guy’s wearing a cardigan at least underneath his suit, but his shirt’s untucked and hanging out from underneath the cardigan and his hair's a wreck. _Sex hair_ , Roman thinks, then immediately wants to slap himself, because the guy is pink-cheeked in the weather and he’s got an awfully cute smile. Which shouldn’t be attractive because the guy is obviously getting some while Roman was not, and even if the guy was into other guys, the fact that Sex Hair Guy (thank you very much, lizard brain) was already getting some meant that he wouldn’t be interested in someone like Roman. Sigh.

He sees Sex Hair Guy three more times in the next two months, and he’s slowly dying on the inside.

Roman doesn’t know what the protocol for regularly bumping into someone doing their walk of shame is, so every time they see each other on the Saturday mornings, he just gives Sex Hair Guy a weak smile and an occasional nod, each time trying not to wish that it was him that Sex Hair Guy was spending time with those Friday evenings. Or Saturday, because he worked Friday nights as well and wouldn't be free. Whatever.

[Of course, if Roman had someone as hot as _him_ in his bed on a regular basis, he wouldn’t let Sex Hair Guy walk out of his apartment before making him pancakes and coffee, because Roman was thoughtful like that.]

His useless friends are typically useless.

“Trust you to have a crush on a someone you’ve only ever seen walking home from a hook-up,” Marco says during their main break.

“Have you even spoken to him yet?” Erik asks around a mouthful of the green Thai curry; a wonderful perk of working the night shift was getting free meals sent to them every night. “You’ve seen each other how many times now? That’s worth a hello at least.”

“It’s not,” Roman groans. “I see him because he takes the same route every time he comes from... you know; it’s not like we met at a party and became friends.”

“I think you should still say hello,” Erik shrugs. “It’s the polite thing to do.”

“And who knows,” Marco adds, “even if he’s not interested, he might invite you out so that _you_ can get laid.”

Roman really needed to get new friends.

The thing is, Roman’s love-life was so negligible that he’d even started considering the merits of following Erik’s advice and actually talking to Sex Hair Guy the next time they bumped into each other. What could possibly go wrong? The worst that could happen would be that Sex Hair Guy would think that Roman was weird for talking to a virtual stranger and change the route he took home; which might actually end up being a blessing in disguise because then he could finally make use of out-of-sight-out-of-mind and finally get over this hopeless crush and get serious about going on _proper_ dates - you know, the ones that might actually develop into _relationships_.

Roman doesn’t even get the chance to test whether this theory would work since the universe apparently hates him more than just a little bit, because the next time he sees Sex Hair Guy is not on the early morning walks of shame, but at a club the week later.

They’re out for Saturday night drinks at some trendy new place that Marco managed to score free entry into, and it just so happens that Jonas is there with a couple of his IBM friends. Normally, Roman would have loved to spend the whole time with Jonas to catch up and tease him for ‘going over to the dark side’ as Erik called it, but this time, he’s not looking forward to it because one of the people Jonas is with, is Sex Hair Guy.

Shit.

Roman is really thankful for the noise and bad lighting inside the club, because then his friends can’t tell that he’s blushing something severely at coming face-to-face with the guy he’s been telling them about for the past couple of months, and the same guy can’t tell that his voice squeaked when they shook hands. They don’t spend the whole night with Jonas and his friends because they end up leaving to go to another club, and Roman is quite guilty about how relieved he feels because he managed to survive those two hours without managing to give away his secret. It helped that Sex Hair Guy’s eyes had widened in recognition when they got introduced, but chose not to mention that they technically knew each other. Maybe ~~Sex Hair Guy~~  Yann hadn’t told his friends about those regular hook-ups and would rather they didn’t know that he and Roman kinda knew each other from the morning walks of shame. Either way, Roman was grateful that Yann hadn’t said anything either.

Which means that the next time they see each other, it’s awkward as fuck.

By the time Christmas starts creeping up, it’s puffy coat and scarf weather already, but even all wrapped up like this, Roman would know Yann anywhere. Roman honestly doesn’t know what he did in his previous lifetime that the universe would be punishing him like this, because Yann’s eyes are bright and his hair is even more wind-swept ( _sex-wrecked_ , his unhelpful brain observes) and makes Roman’s fingers twitch; it’s all he can do stop himself from reaching over and tucking one of the luscious locks behind Yann’s ears.

Instead, Roman blushes, mumbles an awkward “hi”, then scurries off without looking like he is running away.

The next week, Roman makes a slight detour after getting off the bus and ducks into Starbucks to indulge in his secret guilty pleasure of spiced pumpkin lattes. It’s already really cold and snowing lightly, so he practically yanks the door open and rushes into the warmth of the cafe, only to crash straight into a coffee-carrying Yann. Who is no longer carrying his coffee, but wearing it. Roman wants to sink into the ground and die.

“I’m so sorry,” Roman moans in horror. “I’ll buy you another one.”

He’s looking around for the serviettes and is about to start wiping at the front of Yann’s coat when he feels strong hands clutch his wrist and pluck the serviettes from his fingers.

“It’s okay,” Yann says, smiling despite everything. It’s the first time Roman has properly heard Yann’s voice, and it’s low and gravelly ( _sex-wrecked_ , his unhelpful brain observes, and Roman wishes his brain would just _stop)_ and does funny things to his stomach.

Roman shakes his head, giving up on trying to clean Yann up. “No it’s not. If you’re not in a rush, please let me buy you another drink.”

Yann looks up at him from where he’s dabbing at his coat to get the excess liquid out, and nods after a moment’s hesitation.

Roman sighs in relief when Yann follows him to the counter, ordering a mint mocha for Yann and the spiced pumpkin latte for himself, trying not to fidget as they wait for their drinks.

To Roman’s complete and utter surprise, Yann asks him if he wants to sit down as soon as they pick up their orders.“Unless you’re in a rush to go somewhere?”

“No, no,” Roman manages to answer, and they pick a couple of chairs towards the back.

They sip their drinks in silence, occasionally eyeing each other over their cups, looking away with blushes whenever they meet each other’s eyes.

Eventually, Yann starts a conversation about the weather, which dispels the awkwardness for about 30 seconds, then they’re back to floundering for something else to talk about.

“So,” Roman says, because apparently it’s his turn to come up with a topic. “You work with Jonas?”

“Not with him, I work in accounting; we met when the company started a corporate 5-a-side team,” Yann explains.

That explained the suit, Yann thought, then realised they had something in common. “You play football too? Awesome! Jonas used to be on our Sunday team before he quit SAP to go to IBM. What position do you play?”

“Goal.”

“Really? Me too!” His voice sounds a little bit too excited, and Roman blushes some more, hiding into his cup again.

But Yann doesn’t seem to have noticed, because he’s frowning at him. “Sunday team, not the 5-a-side?” he asks. “Does that mean you work night shift?”

“Yeah, that’s how I know Jonas, we were on the same helpdesk team.”

Yann stares at him for a little longer, then says “oh” softly, looking away in obvious embarrassment.

Roman is confused. “Was it something I said?”

“No no,” Yann shakes his head, and Roman can see that Yann is blushing furiously. “I just thought that when I saw you-. Um, never mind.”

Roman isn’t normally the type of person who will push someone to talk about something they’re uncomfortable talking about, but he’s curious now. “When we bumped into each other in the mornings?” he asks, because that’s the only thing Roman can think of Yann could possible mean.

“Yeah,” Yann says slowly. “I didn’t realise you were coming home from work.”

“What did you think I was doing?” Roman asks, confused.

Yann blushes some more. “I kinda thought you were coming home from a hook-up,” he admits sheepishly.

Roman stares for a solid ten seconds, puts his cup carefully down on the table, then bends over and laughs. Loud. With tears coming from his eyes. He should be embarrassed, but he can’t help it, because Yann thought that _he_ was doing the walk of shame as well! The thought is so funny that it takes a while for him to calm down, and at the end of his hysterics, Yann is no longer blushing but looking at him worriedly.

“Sorry,” Roman smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing that exciting. Just because _you’re_ doing the walk of shame doesn’t mean the rest of us up at such ungodly hours on a Saturday morning are doing it as well.”

Yann just looks confused. “Walk of shame? What walk of shame?”

“Ah, you know? All those times we bumped into each other and you thought I..? But it was you..?” He says the last question slowly, because from the look on Yann’s face, Roman’s realising he’s probably got it all wrong, too. “Are you telling me that you weren’t, either?”

“No,” Yann says, looking bewildered. “I volunteer once a month at the hospice around the corner and whenever one of their overnight regulars can’t make it; I usually help set up the breakfast before I go home.”

Roman thinks he might be gaping. “Oh,” he says, not knowing what else to say. They stare at each for a moment, then both burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” Roman gasps, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I can’t believe for the past three months we’ve been thinking the same thing!”

“I know, right?” Yann grins, and Roman has to pull his cup back to his lips again because Yann’s smile is blinding. “Sad to say, I haven’t been on a date since my boyfriend and I broke up nearly two years ago, so no walks of shame for me. How about you?”

Roman wants to squee, but instead tries to maintain some sort of dignity. “Last guy I dated moved to Australia once he got his working holiday visa and didn’t believe in long distance relationships,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant while looking everywhere but at the guy sitting across from him.

There’s a small pause, before Yann says “his loss”, making Roman bring his eyes back to Yann.

Yann is blushing but trying to maintain eye-contact and Roman can feel his own blush deepen and he thinks that maybe the universe didn’t hate him after all. They leave soon after, both of them actually needing sleep, but Roman’s got Yann’s number saved onto his phone and they’ve made tentative plans to meet up next time Yann was due to volunteer; it’s still snowing and cold as hell, but Roman can’t feel any of that, whistling the last few blocks home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman holds the dubious honour of having the Worst Friends Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone and durmie_marcinho for the encouragement on my first ever Somki. Talk about nervous writing it! Anyways, just a little fun, not to be taken seriously at all! <3

It was official. Marco was a little shit. And Jonas? Well, he’s the king of all little shits, there’s no doubt about it. And it’s also official that Roman had the worst friends in the world and he really really needed to get new ones.

“Just a trim, maybe a centimeter, and that’s it,” Marco had said to Yann.

They’re at a bar, having drinks, and talking haircuts. Or more specifically, discussing whether or not Yann should cut his hair. Yann thinks it’s getting a bit long, and now that the weather is getting warmer, he should probably cut it back to above his ears. Yann had asked Roman his opinion last week, and Roman had nonchalantly shrugged. “Whatever is more comfortable for you,” he’d said, trying to be the supportive boyfriend.

(Boyfriend! Yes, boyfriend! _Squeeeeeeee_ )

Roman, well he loved Yann’s hair, of course he did, and if pushed, he’ll admit to loving Yann’s hair _long_. Below the ears, and sweeping over his face, and fluttering in the wind, and threaded through his fingers, and-

Well the point was, Roman liked his boyfriend’s (!!) hair just fine, thank you very much, and would rather that Yann not cut it. Because, you know, _reasons_.

And Marco knew this, because Roman may or may not have drunkenly rambled on one day about how good it felt to finally run his fingers through Yann’s hair and that he could happily do it forever. Which was why Marco was now trying to convince Yann not to cut it; and that kinda made Marco a good friend. But he was still also a little shit because Marco should have known better than to bring up - in present company - that Roman was very fond of Yann’s long, sumptuous, silky locks.

“Roman likes it long too,” Marco said, as though that was the best way to convince Yann to not do anything drastic.

“Guess so,” Yann agreed, turning to Roman and giving him that million-watt smile that tended to short Roman’s brain for a few seconds.

“Yeah?” Roman managed to say in confusion.

And Jonas, because Jonas was the biggest shit of them all, sat up straight and grinned. An evil grin. The type of grin that told Roman that if he could, Jonas would be rubbing his hands together in glee.

Instead, Jonas gave Yann his most fake-innocent wide-eyed look and said “if you’re having a hard time keeping it out of your face, you should ask Roman to fix it for you; like in a bun or a braid. There’s a lot of YouTube videos that show you how to make it so you don’t end up looking like Elsa.”

Roman’s eyes widened for real, and Yann actually looked thoughtful.

“I don’t know if I know how…” Roman started, trying to change the topic before his lizard brain could come up with non-PG rated things that Roman could also be doing to Yann’s hair.

“That’s okay,” Jonas said, shit-eating grin on his face. “If that’s too complicated, ponytails are easy right? It’d just involve a little tugging and gently arranging into place.”

And because Roman’s lizard brain had a mind of its own (huh! I brain pun!), it automatically started visually all the different ways Roman could be tugging and/or gently arranging Yann’s hair. It’s a good thing that they were in a pub, because then nobody could hear the soft whimper that escaped out of Roman’s mouth at the mental images he was suffering through-slash-enjoying.

But Jonas, the emperor of all shitty people, wasn’t finished yet. “Or if Yann decides to cut it after all, headbands are good too, you know. And there’s something about the whole wind-swept, tousled, rolled-out-of-bed look, don’t you think?” he asked Roman, this time not even bothering to hide his evil smirk.

Roman choked on his beer. Erik thumped Roman on the back and asked - with a perfectly straight face - if Roman was okay, knowing full well that he wasn’t. Yeah, Erik was a little shit, too.

“Ahhh…” Roman said, flailing around for an answer.

Yann, his beautiful, angelic, too-good-to-have-friends-like-evil-Jonas boyfriend (!!), comes to his rescue without even realising it.

“I don’t know if that would be professional enough for work,” Yann said to Jonas with a little frown. “I have to keep it neat - it’s part of the dress code for when I meet clients.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Jonas said, winking at Roman over Yann’s head without the slightest hint of guilt or shame.

“Yeah, Roman’s resourceful like that,” Yann beamed, making Roman whimper some more.

Jonas wiggled his eyebrows at him. Marco shrugged and ordered some more beer. Erik asked Roman if he was okay since he was going red.

It was official; they were the biggest shits in the world and he had the worst friends ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little exercise in fluff and writing outside of my comfort zone  
> ==  
> p.s. no, not quite jumping on the bandwagon yet ;) but I've wanted to write this type of fic for a while now and Yann's hair was perfect for it.
> 
> Oddly enough, inspired by [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/2GnUSiD7Lx/?taken-by=ysommer1&hl=en%22) and [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/zCzHwoD7I6/?taken-by=ysommer1&hl=en) Instagram post by Yann.
> 
> I have a [tumblr account ](https://khalehla.tumblr.com) for my writings and random ficlets. If you have a question about this or any of my other stories, come say hi :)
> 
> \--  
> Disclaimer: I write **fiction** about real people. As far as I know, none of these events ever happened; any resemblance to any actual events are purely coincidental.  
>  \--


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